by Liz Schulte
The pawn store had been open for less than a year. The owner Jeremiah Bowers, who I’d found out, was a weresquirrel, (Don’t laugh. We have several squirrel shifters in Peculiar, including a deputy sheriff, who happens to be a really nice man) wasn’t at the register. I glanced around the shop. Display cases highlighted jewelry, guns, and small electronics. Knick-knacks and memorabilia lined the shelves. Over in the music corner, Delbert and Elbert Johnson, the twins who owned the general store, played with a guitar and a mandolin. Both men wore their standard overalls, their white hair short and their beards unkempt. Except Elbert’s face was a little fuller and he had a small blond freckle at the outer corner of his left eye.
They looked up as Babel and I walked further into the store.
“Hey, Sunny. You ready for the big day?” Delbert said as he patted his rounded stomach and wiggled his eyebrows.
“Are you?” I asked him with mock concern. “I think you’re about due any day now.”
Elbert started laughing so hard he wheezed. “She got you, brother. She got you good.”
Delbert joined in, his laugh turning into a coughing fit. “She sure did.”
The twins were opossum shifters, and they were both in the top ten of my all-time awesome people list. When they passed us on the way out, both men leaned down and I gave them both a peck on the cheeks.
“Should I be jealous?” Babel asked with a smile.
“Definitely.”
He squeezed my hand. Jeremiah Bowers, the new owner of the pawnshop, came out of the back. “Oh. I didn’t know you all were out here. Hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
“Nope,” Babe said. “We just got here.”
Jeremiah, his blond hair short and slicked back, shuffled nervously. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. I had that effect on some of the folks in town. While some loved that I might be able to see their past or foretell their future, some of the citizens weren’t keen on me knowing their business. I couldn’t blame them. I certainly wouldn’t want someone dredging up my past. My childhood had been odd to say the least, especially growing up in a commune.
When Jeremiah finally looked at me, he gaped. “Uh, you should probably start using SPF fifty.”
“What?”
“That’s one hell of a sunburn on your face.”
“Oh. Right. I should’ve used more sunscreen.” I fanned myself. The miracle sponge damage had nearly cleared up, but my face had a shiny pink glow about it. I’d used some foundation, but apparently not enough.
Babel set the ring box on the counter and ignored the current topic of conversation. Smart man. “We need these resized for the fourteenth. Is that doable?”
Jeremiah opened the box. “Wow, that’s some really great craftsmanship.”
Peculiar Paw-On was the closest thing our small town had to a real jewelry store. Jeremiah had put a new setting on Ruth Thompson’s anniversary ring, so I knew he had some experience with adjusting rings. Aunt Erma Jean had insisted we go to a Lake Ozarks jeweler, but people in Peculiar took care of their own.
Jeremiah pulled out what looked like a set of keys from beneath the counter and pushed it across to me. “Ms. Haddock, see which band fits your finger so I can get your size.”
“I’m a seven,” I said. “I’ve always been a seven.” I slid the size seven metal ring down my finger and it stuck on my knuckle. I tried again. Same result. Jeremiah turned around and pretended he was busy with some paperwork. Frustrated, I tried the seven and a half. It was tight. Really tight. I sighed as the eight slipped down easily. Slightly snug, but enough wiggle room to get it on and off. “Well, that sucks,” I said.
“We’d like this sized to an eight,” Babe said.
Damn. If I was an eight, the ring was probably a ten. Great grandma must have had some huge hands.
“You got it, Mayor,” Jeremiah said. “I’ll have it ready by the tenth.”
Babel nodded, and I marveled at how comfortable the title had become for him. He pulled out his wallet.
“No, no.” Jeremiah shook his head. “On me. A wedding gift.”
Babel didn’t argue, so I gratefully accepted the goodwill gesture. I remembered how hard it was to be new in town. Of course, I had the added pressure of being the only human.
As we were leaving, Roger Parks pushed his way through the door. He and Kyle Avery had been Jo Jo Corman’s best friends. Jo Jo, an eighteen-year-old cougar-coyote shifter, had been one of my first connections in Peculiar. He’d worked for Chav and me in our restaurant since we opened our doors in September. Dirty from either farm work or mudding, Roger scowled at me...until he caught the “I’ll rip your eyes out and shove them down your throat look” from Babe.
In his mind, because Jo Jo worked for me, I’d taken him away. I guess it was easier to blame me than accept Jo Jo had moved on from his friends’ immature antics and infantile jokes.
“I have an appointment to see Dolly at Beastly Beauty,” I told Babel.
“You need a ride home later?”
“No. Chavvah will take me.” I felt guilty that Chavvah was managing the business every day without me, but she said it was her wedding present to me. I was grateful for the time off. One of those pre-wedding errands today would be hoo-ha maintenance. Since the pregnancy, I’d let my girly parts go wild. I usually did it myself using depilatory cream, but I wanted my hoo-ha to look good for my groom. Besides, I couldn’t reach between my thighs because of my distended belly. So, I’d made an appointment for my first bikini wax.
“Getting your hair done?” Babe asked.
“Of a sort.” I batted my eyelashes.
“Is there something in your eye?”
“No.” I smacked him on the shoulder. “I’m trying to flirt with you, moron.”
He pulled me in close with a sudden quickness that took my breath away. He stared down at me as if he could capture my soul. And why not, he’d already captured my heart. I felt the rigid length of his shaft press against me as he stroked his hand through my hair.
“Looking at you, holding you close to me, knowing I get the share the rest of our lives together...that’s the only flirting I need, Sunshine Haddock.”
Oh Jeezus. My girly bits throbbed.
“I’m getting a bikini wax,” I said, breathless and feeling super warm even in thirty-six-degree weather. “Ho boy.”
Babe raised an eyebrow, a quirk of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep. It’s going to be really awkward though if you don’t ease up on your sexual mojo.”
“I do have mojo,” he agreed. His lips slid over mine, and he poured heat into my mouth, warming me up from the inside out. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”
“Me too,” I panted. He let me go and turned me toward the beauty shop. It was tantalizing and decidedly unprofessional for the mayor slap on my ass as his final farewell.
I detoured at the general store. My teeth needed some brightening, and I didn’t have any hydrogen peroxide at home.
Speak of the devil. Kyle Avery was on his way out with a shopping bag. He snarled at me, and I stopped, startled by his outright hostility. He sneered and laughed, and then walked toward the pawnshop.
“Hey, Sunny,” Delbert shouted when he saw me enter the shop. “How you doing today?”
“Good, Del. How are you?”
“Same ole, same ole. You’re looking ready to go there,” he said, gesturing to my belly. “If you were an inch taller, you’d be round as a plum.”
I was too frazzled for a good comeback, so I just said, “That’s mean, Delbert. Even for you.”
“Oh, now, Sunny. You know I was just joshin’ you. You look good for an acorn.” He winked.
“You’re funny,” I said, “funny looking, that is.”
He laughed. “What can I do you for today?”
“I need some hydrogen peroxide.”
“Well, shoot. I just sold the last three bottles. Won’t get any more in until next week.”
“Ne
xt week will be too late,” I whined. “Oh well, baking soda is supposed to whiten teeth. You have it, or are you out of that too?”
Delbert came out from behind the register. He walked to the second aisle and pulled off an orange box. He handed it to me. “On the house,” he said. “For your pain and suffering.”
I gave his beard a friendly tug. “Thanks.” I looked at my watch. I only had five minutes to get to the salon. “Talk to you soon,” I told the opossum-shifter, and I raced (more like waddled) out the door.
* * *
Two hours later, I tried not to cry on the ride home. Chavvah kept shaking her head, but she had the good sense to keep her comments to herself. I thanked all that was good and merciful that my maternity stretch pants were baggy in the crotch.
As I walked into the cabin (by myself, because no way was I inviting Chav in to witness my humiliation), Babel waited for me, stretched out on the couch in nothing but a pair of tented sweatpants. The smile on his face wavered then disappeared.
“How’d it go?”
Without saying a word, I pushed down my pants and underwear and pulled up my shirt. Red whelps surrounded my hoo-ha, where Dolly had poured hot wax and ripped off errant hairs and the top layer of skin. Then she plucked out the really stubborn hairs causing blood to ooze from the traumatized follicles. The pain, if possible, was worse than when I scrubbed my face off.
“Wow, I guess we’re not having sex tonight,” Babe said—the master of understatement. A grin threatened his lips.
I reached down—not an easy feat—and yanked my pants back up. “Laugh and you’ll never have sex again.”
His face immediately sobered. “Duly noted.”
In our bedroom, I stripped down, showered in cool water, and flopped onto the bedspread naked. The only comfortable position was spread eagle with the ceiling fan on full blast. Babe peeked his head in the door, and I threw a pillow, missing him by several feet.
I moved my forearm over my eyes. “Go away.”
Babel climbed next to me in bed. “Do you want to cuddle?”
“I want a time machine so I can go back and tell my idiot self not to get a bikini wax. Ever.”
He stretched next to me and gently brought into his embrace. He kissed my neck then wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. He was the big comfy spoon to my hot-mess spoon.
“Love you,” he said.
“Love you.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Fate was trying to put the kibosh on my nuptials, but I was determined to stay positive about our wedding. Just because my face had a bad case of road rash, the rings didn’t fit, and my hoo-ha looked like I’d thrown acid on it, didn’t mean anything. Right?
Chapter Four
10 days until the wedding...
I’d spent the better part of two days refusing to leave the cabin. On the third morning, I stared at myself in the mirror, thankful the normal color was returning to my cheeks. Pleasantly enough, the new skin was supple and glowy. So, while I wouldn’t recommend using a miracle sponge as a skincare product, all in all, the consequences could have been a lot worse.
Babel had left early for a meeting at the courthouse with the sheriff, the town council, and the Peculiar Chamber of Commerce about whether to approve some zoning or some such for Elton Brown’s furniture store. He wanted to build an extra room for inventory on the back of his shop. I really liked Elton, so I hope they all voted yes. Babe seemed pretty confident there wouldn’t be any issues.
The phone rang. The caller I.D. identified Jo Jo Corman. I answered it quickly. “Is everything okay?”
“I have some bad news.”
“Just tell me,” I said, steeling my resolve.
“The reception hall at the lodge flooded.”
Noooo! I tried for optimistic. “Surely they can fix the damage in ten days.”
“Nope. Sheri Smith says all the carpeted floors are ruined and the walls sustained water damage, too. It’ll take a month, maybe longer, to fix everything.”
“I swear to all that is homicidal and unholy, if another thing goes wrong, I will go ape-shit-crazy on someone’s ass!”
“Don’t kill the messenger,” Jo Jo said. The high pitch in his voice indicated his stress. “I didn’t want to tell you in the first place.”
“Lost the coin toss, did you?”
“Yeah.”
“Chavvah cheats.” I took a breath, sucking the air deep into my lungs. I wanted to blame how I felt on my hormones, but the truth was, I teetered on the edge of freaking out. Would nothing go right this week?
“If it weren't the middle of winter, we could do it outside,” said Jo Jo. “But I’m not sure where you’re going to find a place that seats most the town.”
This wasn’t Jo Jo’s problem. He should be worried about girls and school, not where I was going to hold my rehearsal dinner and wedding reception. “I’ll find a place, Jo Jo. You don’t concern yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, sounding unconvinced.
“Thanks for calling.” After he said bye and hung up, I sank down onto the loveseat. “Well,” I said to Baby Trimmel. “This sucks.”
* * *
9 days until the wedding...
Two days had passed with no luck on getting a new place for the rehearsal and reception. Valentine’s Day was only the busiest time of the year, next to Christmas, for most venues.
To take my mind off my wedding woes, Ruth had invited me to lunch. While I have been a vegetarian my whole life, for psychic reasons, the little half-therian inside me craved meat. The bloodier, the better. Yuck. I’d given in once to the craving and had a slaughter house vision that nearly sent me into premature labor. Since then, I tried to appease the wee one by eating a lot of meat substitutes. She wasn’t satisfied, which meant neither was I. Blondina Messer, the owner of Blonde Bear Cafe had called and said she might have a solution. I didn’t need any other enticement.
It was after the lunch rush, and Ruth parked in front of the cafe. The burgers, tenderloins, and chicken fried steaks offered here made my mouth water. Baby Trimmel kicked me hard. “Don’t get too excited,” I whispered.
Blondina Messer lit up when she saw me. “I think I’ve got it, Sunny! I’ve solved the meat problem.”
I raised a skeptical brow.
“Now just hear me out.” She pulled out canned ham. I eyed the mystery meat suspiciously. “The fresher the meat, the fresher the vision. This stuff has been processed to a point that not even the company that makes it would know the origin. Plus it’s been sitting on a shelf for God knows how long. Thanks to the preservatives, it could probably sit on the shelf for another century and still be edible.”
“Debatable,” Ruth muttered. Blondina glared at her. Ruth shook her head but didn’t expound on her opinion.
“I know it’s not ideal, but...”
Baby Trimmel kicked me again. “Oof,” I said, holding my side. “Fix it up for me.”
“I’ll take a chicken salad,” Ruth said. When Blondina left, she leaned in close. “That stuff can’t be good for you or the baby.”
“The baby thinks different,” I said. “She is a carnivore through and through.” I had a dream once that she grew teeth in my womb and chewed her way out of me. In some part of my brain, even though Babe told me it was impossible, I secretly worried it might happen.
Blondina’s daughter Carlena brought drinks to the table—iced tea for me and a diet cola with lemon for Ruth.
“How’s it going with Deputy Connelly?” I’d predicted their dating back in July.
She held out her hand. On her ring finger was a pretty little princess cut diamond in a platinum setting. “He just asked me last night!” she squealed.
“Oh, honey,” Ruth said. “I’m so happy for you.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said, taking her hand to get a closer look at the engagement ring. “It’s so pretty.”
A vision of Connelly rushing into the restaurant, his face pale and beaded with sweat, staggered me.
I leaned back, suddenly alarmed.
“What is it?” Ruth asked.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. But it’s nothing good.”
Sheriff Taylor and his wife Jean came into the cafe. They sat at a table near Ruth and me.
“Hey, Sugar,” Jean said to me. She was a handsome woman with her long graying hair pulled into a loose bun. The slight dark circles around her eyes, like those on her husband, were more an indication of her animal side than a lack of sleep. Jean and the sheriff were both raccoon shifters.
“Hi, Jean.” I almost giggled, as I did every time I greeted her. Hi, Jean. Hygiene. My sophomoric humor aside, Jean was a nice woman, but she could cut you down with her sweetness like no one else I’d ever met. “Sheriff,” I said, nodding his way.
“Pleasant day,” he said, then turned his attention to the menu.
I spotted Blondina coming from the kitchen with something that looked like a burger and Ruth’s salad. I resisted rubbing my hands together in an eager yummy-yummy gesture. Baby Trimmel was a terrible influence on me.
The smell of smoked, salty meat wafted up at me from where she set the sandwich and sweet potato fries down on the table. My mouth watered. Gross. I swallowed. The “burger” was a large square hunk of pink meat grilled crispy on all sides, on top was a grilled pineapple, crisp iceberg lettuce, and some freshly pickled jalapenos.
I lifted the sandwich to my lips, opened wide, and sank in for a bite. I held my breath waiting for a horrid animal-killing vision. But there were no visions of blood, no squeals of dying pigs, no nothing.
I chewed and swallowed before my psychic-mojo could turn on me. A flutter in my belly told my little darling was happy as well.
“Oh my gosh, Blondina,” I finally said after two more bites. “If I weren't already engaged, I’d marry you.”
Blondina’s broad smile lit her face. “I’m adding it to the rehearsal dinner menu.” She put her hand on my shoulder, her face suddenly full of pity. “I’m sorry to hear about The Glenn flooding. I hope you can find another venue on such short notice.”
